


The Suit Doesn’t Make You, but it’s Still Damn Sexy

by corsicab



Category: Batwoman (Comic), Batwoman (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F, Female Protagonist, Gotham City - Freeform, Love Confessions, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Pandemics, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suit Kink, Suit Sex, Trans Female Character, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corsicab/pseuds/corsicab
Summary: Coronavirus has ravaged Gotham, even hitting one of its most high-profile inhabitants. After finding her injured, you're forced to quarantine for at least two-weeks together leading to a journey of self-discovery and plenty of steamy moments.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Suit Doesn’t Make You, but it’s Still Damn Sexy

By week eight of the restrictions put in place, a new normal had descended over Gotham without much pushback, well except from the criminal underworld.

But most people in the city had no contact with the shady bosses and villains who dominated the illicit marketplaces that ensured that life above ground functioned without any disruption, no matter what the political leadership or supposed heroes said. Yet, when coronavirus started to disrupt every form of legitimate business it was only a matter of time before those who trafficked in illegitimate means fell victim to what some called “the great equalizer”.

Quickly, the city’s corrupt politicians worked to form a lockdown plan that would allow a curious few businesses, mostly those used as fronts, to stay open so the public at large could have their needs met and little alarm would be raised about the choices made. Who would question the decision to keep open bodegas and laundromats in a city where residents need food and a sense of normalcy? Plus, some under the table funding to ensure delivery and takeaway options continued at certain restaurants meant the wheels of any criminal enterprise could keep going.

That’s what Sydney noticed anyway. Or, rather, it is what Sydney could see going on in the city she had called home for nearly five years. 

She had come to Gotham hoping to find a place to fit in outside of the small, closed-minded town where she hailed, but things don’t always work out that way. Finding a remote job early on seemed like it was too good to be true, but mostly led to her being confined to a small studio apartment with an absent landlord and super. While living arrangements were never ideal, they worked and Sydney soon found a routine and stuck to it. Growing into herself kept getting delayed in her mind, but in reality she was doing just that. She became a normal city dwelling girl, frequenting some restaurants and forging conversation with the familiar faces at the laundromat. Every tuesday she’d trudge down the sixth floor walkup she could barely still afford and walk two blocks to wash her clothes and sheets and spend a few hours outside for the first time in a few days. Mrs. Johnson would be waiting with a smile ready to talk with her favorite customer, as Sydney was always happy to oblige an elderly lady in polite conversation.

Those encounters were some of the only ones Sydney would experience in her day-to-day life before the pandemic hit. Misguided attempts at finding community, while a demanding job kept her tethered to her home led to fewer and fewer attempts at going out and joining a new group. She knew inside her mind who she always wanted to be, but just couldn’t place the people who could be her new family. 

It was just easier to stay alone and work hard and connect online, it seemed. Even the lure of Gotham was too much for the small-town girl.

The disconnect between her online life and real-world banality was stark. She moderated support groups, had a thriving online presence in all areas except Instagram, and even would sell hand-made clothes on the side of her day-job just to keep the creative spark alive. All these measures were necessary to keep her from succumbing to a full depressive state as she left the house less and less, but they also provided more fulfillment than she ever got pursuing them at home.

So, when Gotham decided that enough was enough and actual measures needed to be taken to stop the spread of coronavirus, Sydney was prepared. First, in person gatherings were limited, which didn’t matter. Then Restaurants closed with alarming speed, only mildly disrupting her daily routine, which involved more cooking.

More cooking meant more trips to the grocery store, or in Sydney’s case making sure she got everything she needed for at least a week in one trip. This was hard in Gotham as many people relied on delivery apps (which just happened to be controlled by underground organizations) for their convenience and lack of fresh options. Living on a sixth floor walk-up didn’t help, but Sydney could not bring herself to use a delivery service for groceries and put another person at risk of catching the virus.

So, she developed a new routine with alarming speed and stuck to it. Tuesday’s became grocery day, and Saturday became laundry day. These would be the only times Sydney would leave the house, always making sure to wear a mask. She adopted wearing a mask in public earlier than guidelines from the city, as she was an avid news consumer. The start of the pandemic worried her, plus wearing a mask in public would distract from her defined chin and any uncaught depression stubble. 

While she would get uncomfortable stares from people at the story in those early days, Sydney felt freed by wearing a mask. No one could recognize her and she got out of her usual small talk with store owners that she knew. Life felt quicker in these early days, as going out was a means to an end with the implicit goal of avoiding contact to avoid getting a disease very few people knew or understood. 

Changing the date of going to the laundromat though meant missing out on the one set of conversations Sydney had each week in person. While Mrs. Johnson at the laundromat could be a bit pushy at times, she kept up with the latest comings and goings of the heroes, or as some would call vigilantes, in the city. This topic fascinated Sydney as she never had any experience with anyone willing to conceal themselves in the name of justice. The ideals they represented were ones she tried to live every day to match. She fought perilously online for social justice and equality, using her anonymity online much in the same way, or so she thought. Mrs. Johnson would always be there to offer a counter argument and a different perspective. They both had their favorites, Mrs. Johnson believed more in Superman in far away Metropolis, while Sydney only really believed in Batwoman. 

Mrs. Johnson didn’t work weekends so when Sydney started doing her laundry on Saturday she was forced to sit there alone with no one to chat with. After two or three weeks of this new routing she no longer minded, plus wearing her mask kept those looking to make forced conversation at a minimum. 

That’s how life under quarantine in Gotham adapted, there was some disruption at first, then tacit acceptance of what was needed to be done to prevent mass death by coronavirus. 

Still, every once in a while a news bulletin would flash that showed a hero attempting to try and curb the bubbling up of the criminal enterprises from taking over the vacuum left in the economy by the pandemic. Sydney usually sat rapt in front of the news when they would follow a hero doing their job, but she missed the latest pursuit of Batwoman in her neighborhood in Gotham due to a smoke alarm mishap. 

For over an hour Sydney tried to stop the beeping as the 9Volt battery inside the smoke alarm was on its last breaths, but the device was painted over meaning it was stuck to the ceiling. Finally, she was able to pry the smoke alarm off and rip the battery out. After rummaging through her junk drawer, Sydney realized she would have to go back outside to her local bodega in the rain to get a 9Volt battery so she didn’t accidentally burn down her apartment in the future.

She quickly put on her mask, and a raincoat and trudged outside. The bodega was only three blocks away, and that went by quickly while running in the pouring rain. Sydney was so focused on getting the battery and back to her apartment quickly that she didn’t notice anything going on outside. She found what she needed, left, and started running home.

About a block from her apartment she heard a loud thud in the alleyway. Normally, being alone at night in the raise, she would have avoided it, but she sensed something was really wrong after hearing a slight whimper after. 

Apprehensively walking down the alley she saw someone lying on the ground…but not just anyone. It was Batwoman. In her suit. Lying prone on the ground trying to get up. She clearly fell from high up and was struggling to move, and had a nasty gash on her leg. Sydney ran over and immediately took off her raincoat to cover the gash and stop any bleeding. She noticed Batwoman’s face was flushed as her red hair was strewn on the sidewalk.

As Sydney picked up the fallen hero she slung her over her shoulder and helped her walk into her building. Each step felt like it was carrying a boulder up a hill, as she tried to hold on to Batwoman’s slippery suit. Of course, the first time Sydney embraced someone in years, or even got close to another person in two months was carrying an injured hero back to her apartment, just barely. 

Finally, she got Batwoman into the elevator and helped her limp into the apartment. As Sydney rushed to get some bandages from her bathroom and dress the wound, Batwoman finally came to. 

“I’m...so sorry,” Batwoman meekly said before exploding into a coughing fit as Sydney, still wearing her mask thankfully, dressed the bandage on her leg. 

The coughing wouldn’t stop for close to thirty minutes and Sydney knew what she had to do. She prepared her bed for her new houseguest, printed out the symptoms of coronavirus to double check, and made some tea for Batwoman before setting her in Sydney’s room to recover. All she left was a note on the bedside table to let the struggling hero know what would be going on when she woke up:

“You have coronavirus, I’ve left you clothes to change in and easy access to the bathroom to clean yourself up in the morning. I’ll come in two-three times a day in a mask with food/drinks and any medicine that can help alleviate the symptoms. It will feel like a long two weeks for you, but it will be okay.”


End file.
